


Collection

by warmfluffypastries



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baby Fic, Drabble, F/M, Family, First Meetings, Fluff, Married Couple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-01-02 18:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21165806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warmfluffypastries/pseuds/warmfluffypastries
Summary: Just a collection of drabbles, one-shots, and scenes I can't find anything to do with.





	1. Self-Soothing

“I can’t do this,” he sighs, glancing over at her prostrate form. Her eyes are closed, both hands folded low on her belly; she’s not sleeping though, he’s not sure there’s a human being in the world that could sleep through the noise coming from their second bedroom. “I have to get him.”

“If you get off this bed, you are not sleeping in here,” her voice is hoarse but still threatening, “he has to do this by himself.”

“Clarke,” he huffs, “I feel like my heart is tearing in two.”

“I know,” she replies, “believe me.”

“So screw this,” his hands go up in the air, “what are we actually accomplishing?”

“We are getting one baby out of our bed before the next one comes along,” she reminds him gently, “it was either this or weaning him and I don’t think my hormonal state could handle that at the moment.”

“Does it have to?” he leans up on an elbow, head resting in hand, the other drifting down to twine with hers. “The doctor said you were all good, right?”

“Yeah,” she nods, finally looking over at him. The tears in her eyes make his heart ache even more, “he suggested upping my caloric intake but otherwise we are doing great.” He pulls her into him during her explanation, and they wind around each other still listening to the squalling. “He was also very concerned about the co-sleeping--”

“Okay,” he nods, disentangling from her, “That’s not a good enough reason for me,” he’s already out the door before Clarke even realizes he’s abandoned her on the bed.

“Bellamy,” she whisper-shouts, she knows part of getting Gus to sleep in his own room is reliant on him believing they are sleeping as well.

“Hey buddy,” she hears over the monitor, “it’s okay,” followed by several shushing noises and shuffling, “I’m sorry.”

The crying doesn’t really quiet down, but she hears it coming down the hallway. Then they are standing in the doorway; matching heads of dark, curly hair sticking out at odd spots. Gus looks like he’s been through the ringer; face red, tears still on his cheeks, fists clenched tightly in Bellamy’s shirt...and giving her one of the saddest most pleading looks she has ever seen. And the tears are trailing down her own cheeks before she knows it, “Oh baby,” she’s reaching for him and Bellamy easily slides him into her arms and then they turn into one big cuddle puddle on their bed. “I’m so sorry.”

Bellamy shushes them both and miraculously Gus’s cries turn to small hiccups. He’s clutching at her own shirt now and burying his face into the crook of her neck. She can’t help but mirror his position, clutching tightly at Bellamy’s shirt with her free hand and tucking her forehead into his shoulder and allowing her nose to brush gently against Gus’s hair.

“We can work up to him sleeping in his own room,” Bellamy tells her nearly 20 minutes later when Gus has finally dropped off into sleep, “but because we want to, not because some doctor thinks it’s what’s best.”

“Bellamy,” she feels the sigh, “it is what’s best though, we can’t let him sleep here forever.”

“He’s 9 months old,” he laughs, “that’s not exactly forever.”

“I know,” she murmurs, “but with this baby we’ll have to start everything sooner than we intended.”

“Okay, things may not be exactly the way we planned in the beginning, but we aren’t sacrificing our kid’s trust in us just to meet some arbitrary requirement--”

“Seriously,” she snorts, “it’s not that. I just had this vision of us ending up in different beds consoling different children and as much as I love our kids I’m not willing to sacrifice _us_ for _them_, either.”

“Fair enough,” he agrees, “so we’ll start with this.” He gently pries Gus from her arms and she has to peel his fingers back from her shirt as he stands, “I’m going to put him in his own bed now. If he wakes up at some point, we’ll bring him back; but this way he gets used to waking up on his own, okay?”

She nods, snagging the tail of his shirt to stop him before he can get too far from the bed. Crawling to her knees she places a kiss against her baby boy’s head before nodding again and sending them down the hall.


	2. Birth Story #4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on MamaDoctorJones's birth story of her fourth child that she shared on youtube. I, of course, have taken several liberties and I do not have any degree in a field even remotely related to medicine. I've done research, but that will only take you so far.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, if it goes well...I'm thinking of doing more in this particular universe.
> 
> Also, also, I did barely proofread this, so all mistakes are mine.

She can’t believe she hadn’t seen the signs. How does a OB/GYN miss the fact that she herself is in the early stages of labor? After two previous pregnancies no less, but here she sits in a puddle of amniotic fluid realizing that she’d ignored the signs all day.

She’d been achy and sore for weeks, but she chocked it up to just plain tiredness, at nearly 38 weeks pregnant, she’s been on maternity leave for the last two weeks. But you don’t get maternity leave from being a Mom. Bellamy has been doing his best, but when he goes to work during the day, and Madi and the twins go to school, she is still at home with Jacob.

The 3 year old is rambunctious and needs entertainment most days and lately that includes trips to the park just to get him outdoors and keep him from destroying the house. Then she picks up the kids at school and tries to keep them all focused on their homework and Bellamy gets home in time to get dinner ready. 

Today, she had napped and let Jacob watch an excessive amount of cartoons instead of taking him out. The ache in her lower back had been pretty consistent for the entire afternoon and she knew from her last appointment that she was already 1 cm dilated. So none of this should’ve been a surprise to her. But as she is settling back into bed after one of her nightly trips to the toilet, at nearly 11 pm she feels her water break.

She’s been here before, she reminds herself and is relatively calm in waking Bellamy. “What’s up?” he questions. He’s a saint when she’s pregnant, always wants to take as much off her plate as possible, including midnight runs to the local convenience store for her favorite junk foods.

“Well, my water broke,” she offers with a shrug, and he’s blinking rapidly at her now, as he moves out of the bed.

“You sure?” he asks, and she wants to hate him for it, but neither of them will forget that she wet the bed when she was nearing the end with the twins. So she can only give him a squint, as he rushes around to help her from the bed. “You’re sure.”

“At least we put the rubber sheet on before the mess this time,” she’s sarcastic in her response, “I’m going to rinse off, you call Octavia?”

“Octavia can’t get here for at least an hour...probably closer to an hour and a half,” he sighs, dropping his phone on the counter in the bathroom, she's toweling off after her quick shower, and then wiggling into sweats and an old college shirt of his.

“I can just drive myself,” she shrugs, “I haven't even had a contraction yet.”

“Clarke--” He sighs softly, hands framing her belly gently, just in time to feel it contract tightly.

“Hmm,” her eyes close, and she has to breathe deeply. Slowly coming back to herself, “see that one was quick anyway. If I wait I won’t be able to drive myself...plus, I’m a doctor, trust me on this one.”

“I don’t know,” he’s skeptical, following her into the walk-in closet as she searches for a pair of shoes she can easily step in to, “That looked a little painful, I don’t know that you should be driving.”

“Well there’s not another way for me to get to there other than to call an ambulance, and we are not doing that,” she retorts, “and Madi is not old enough to stay by herself in charge of the other three. I want to get the baby on a monitor as soon as possible, after what happened with Jake--”

“I know,” he reassures, cutting off her further thoughts, “Well, call me when you get there,” he urges, following as she collects her keys, purse, and hospital bag. “And be careful, please.”

She doesn't even make it out of the neighborhood before the next contraction hits. And she has to put the car in park to make it through. _Alright Clarke, you’ve got this, it is just a ten minute drive._ With a quick breath she puts the car back in drive. She has to stop once more on the way to the hospital, but manages to pull into her regular space without further incident. As she is boarding the elevator a much stronger contraction hits and she has to stagger to grab the handrail.

She makes, what she will later realize, is not the smartest decision because she goes straight to the ER and joins the triage line of about six patients. It’s the quick inhale through her teeth that must signal the man in front of her, who shows no visible signs of injury or even mild pain, to let her pass him. She tries to give him a polite smile, but she is sure it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Name,” the nurse barely glances up from her computer, Clarke doesn’t recognize her either, and she has to remind herself not to snap at the poor woman.

“Clarke Blake,” she tries to keep from growling, “I’m in labor.”

“Insurance?” she asks next, and Clarke knows she is just following proper procedure, but she cannot deal with it right now.

“My water broke almost 30 minutes ago now, and I have had at least five contrac--” she trails off on a groan, as another seizes her.

“Is this your first baby?” the nurse finally seems to realize this might be an actual emergency at this point.

“Fourth one I’m giving birth to,” she supplies and feels a little satisfaction that she’s not actually answering the question the way she should, knowing it’s only her third pregnancy, but internally blaming the nurse.

“Okay,” she is in even more of a rush now, “I’m going to go ahead and call up to labor and delivery and we’ll get you straight upstairs.” 

“Thank you,” she grunts, and moves towards the waiting room.

“Have my seat,” an older woman offers, when she gets close.

“No, no,” she waves the woman off immediately, not even being able to imagine sitting at the moment, “I am good, please.”

“Clarke?” her absolute favorite L&D nurse, Harper, questions just as she feels another contraction. Raising her hand as if class roll is being called, Clarke sinks back against the wall. Harper quickly grabs her raised hand squeezing to let her know she can squeeze back, and squeeze she does. “Just breathe,” she reminds her, and Clarke can’t help but be annoyed by her soothing voice, but she follows her direction; and lets out the breath she had no idea she’d been holding on to. “How are you doing?” she asks once the contraction has passed and Clarke has straightened back up off the wall, “do you want a wheelchair?”

“Fuck no!” she’s probably louder than necessary and Harper lets out a snort at her reaction, “I don’t even think I could sit right, whether I wanted to or not.”

“Understandable,” she agrees, and they slowly shuffle to the elevator. There are two more contractions and at least four f-bombs between the wait for the elevator and the 9th floor L&D ward. She feels like crying when she sees all of her nurses lined up down the hall to cheer her on. But Harper must sense her mood because she shoos them all away quickly, “Where is Bellamy?” she asks as they cross the threshold into a labor and recovery suite.

“Shit,” she sighs, leaning back against the bed, “I meant to call him when I got here. He’s waiting on Octavia to watch the kids.”

“Call him...now!” she’s insistent when Clarke doesn’t immediately reach for her phone.

Clarke grumbled, grabbing for her phone, and then balancing against the tray table with her elbows to make the call, he answers before it can really ring, “Clarke! Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she doesn’t mean for it to come out nearly as tired as it does, “I just made it to the L&D floor.”

“I thought you were going to call me when you got there?” she can almost picture him, basically pulling out his hair, managing to make it stand on end.

“I was more concerned about not dropping the kid in the parking deck---ow, fuck!” she hisses, gripping the edge of the table. Harper’s hands are pushing against her spine...and the moan she exhales, should not be considered decent.

“Breath, Clarke,” and just like that his voice is calm, they’ve discussed it before...how much he hates seeing her in pain, but he has learned to mask his outward anxiety to help her and can change his voice on a dime with her and the kids, but she knows he is probably pacing a hole in the floor worrying.

“I want the baby on a monitor,” Clarke speaks to Harper before turning back to her phone, “I’ll see you when you get here okay?”

“Clarke, what’s--Octavia must have broken several traffic laws, I’ll be there soon, okay?” she knows, he is now starting to panic, but she can only focus on herself and the baby at the moment, “Hey? I love you.”

“I love you too,” she promises. After hanging up, she sees that Harper has laid out everything needed, and is holding a gown out towards her. Shuffling into the ensuite, she easily slips out of her clothes and into the gown.

“Hey Clarke, how you doing?” Dr. Nyko is waiting when she exits to her room, “You want to lay down for a quick exam? Let Harper get you all hooked up?”

“Not really,” she sighs, even as they help her onto the bed, knowing the routine almost makes the whole process worse, but she’s relieved when they get all the monitors up and she can see the baby is doing well.

“So, I know you are having the caesarian...I’ll get Luna in here soon for that, you are right at five centimeters,” Nyko gave her knee at pat, “and as you can see, baby has a strong heartbeat.”

“So, we’re good to wait until Bellamy gets here?” Clarke reassured herself, glancing at Nyko.

“Yep,” he nodded, “Luna should be by shortly.”

“You want to be left alone?” Harper asked, once Nyko was gone.

“I’m sure you have other patients, you don’t have to babysit me,” Clarke smiled at her friend, “as soon as I am out of this bed, I’ll be fine.”

“Well first off,” Harper took her hand to help her up, “You are VIP around these parts, you get whatever you want. Second, you delivered Jordan, so I’m even more likely to let you have everything you want. But I am going to have to get your IV started.”

“You really shouldn’t be letting the others deal with your slack,” Clarke grumbled, offering up her hand for Harper to stick a needle in.

“Okay,” Harper was snarky now, “let me just go get Ontari to check in on you, and I’ll go make the rounds.”

“Oh my god, please don’t do that, I’m sorry. You can stay here forever,” Clarke grabs at her, hands now free, “I never want her anywhere near my child.”

“Like I would ever give up this job,” Harper snorts.

“How’s my favorite OB doing tonight?” Luna announces her presence entering the room. 

“Could be better,” Clarke grit, leaning against the bed again and squeezing the lithe hand Harper still had trapped in hers.

“Well, you let me take care of that,” Luna smiles serenely, as she got set up, “Just let me know when you are ready.”

“Found this guy on the elevator,” Nyko pops open the door and Bellamy swiftly bypasses him into the room.

“Are you okay?” he is immediately at her side, hand at her lower back, and she remembers that he’s been through this process with her before. Knows exactly what she needs as the pain eases.

“Better now,” she sighs, leaning into him, “and Luna’s about to make everything amazing.”

“Oh yeah?” Bellamy gives a small laugh looking over her shoulder, “you’ve got the drugs?”

“All the best ones for our favorite, Dr. Blake,” she promised, and Clarke moved onto the bed again. Familiar with this process, Bellamy stepped in front of her. She draped her arms around his shoulders, and his hands went to her thighs.

“Alright Doc, curve your spine for me,” and then Bellamy feels her whole body tense and he knows a needle has entered her spine, “a couple more seconds,” she promised, and it’s like a switch gets flipped and she becomes jelly in his arms, “you should be good. I’ll let Nyko know you are good to go. I heard they are cleaning up the best OR just for you.”

“She is my new first person forever,” Clarke signed dreamily as she finally settled on the bed.

“You said that about me two nights ago when I went out at 3 am to get you Mexican,” he laughed, perching against the edge of her bed with his hip.

“Well, you’ve been replaced,” she smirked.

“Alright, Dad, we need to get you changed,” Harper announced, apparently having snuck off to don her own surgical cap and gown. She placed a stack of scrubs on the tray table, “I will come back for you, just as soon as we get the doc all prepped and ready. Put those on over your clothes.”

“I love you,” he promised, exchanging a soft peck, “can’t believe we're about to have five kids.” 

“Better believe it, it was your idea,” she retorted, “and I love you too, I’ll see you in just a bit.”

“Okay you two,” Harper laughed as several orderlies joined them to move Clarke to a new bed and take her to surgery, “I’ll be back in less than ten.” she promised on her way out the door.

True to her word, she did quickly return, presenting him with a paper gown, scrub cap and shoe covers.

“Is it ridiculous that I’m nervous?” he asked as they walked the halls, “this is the third time, I have watched them slice my wife open and pull our children out--”

“It’s still surgery,” Harper reminded him, “there are always risks, but you are at a damn good hospital, with one of our best doctors.”

“Only one of the best?” he quirks an eyebrow.

“Well she can’t very well operate on herself, now can she?” Harper smiles back.

“I guess that is fair,” he chuckles.

“Alright, you are going to scrub both hands thoroughly with this, then--” 

“Finger tips, to get the gunk under the nails,” he finishes, “I married a surgeon, remember?”

“Of course,” she smiles, before putting her mask in place, and helping with his, “now, I know your old hat at this, but when we go in, there will be a stool for you by Clarke’s head...don’t move the stool, and don’t move yourself unless someone tells you to.”

“Right,” he takes a deep breath, and shakes out his shoulders, before they stepped into the room.

“Okay, now that dad’s here we can get this party started,” Dr. Nyko announces, and Bellamy swiftly moves back to Clarke’s side. There is a drape set up, separating her about chest height, and her hands are stretched out to her sides. He easily graspa the left one, and she was quick to give it a squeeze.

“Hi,” she murmurs when their eyes caught, and she shifts hers up indicating he should look too. A mirror mounted on the ceiling shows her bare belly, surrounded by blue and green sterile cloths.

“Alright Clarke, you’re going to feel some pressure but if it’s pain, you let me know,” Nyko orders, before making a smooth slice around the lower part of her belly, and what feels like mere seconds later, Nyko’s holding their screaming newborn, by his neck and butt, up over the drape for them to see, “say hey mom and dad.”

“He’s perfect, Bellamy whispers, pressing mask covered lips to her cap covered forehead, then straining to peer around doctors and nurses to keep eyes on him.

“APGAR is nine,” is announced loudly, and Clarke snorts, knowing it was spoken loudly for her benefit.

“You did awesome,” Bellamy bends back toward her, dropping his eyes to meet hers briefly, “Here he comes.”

“You get five minutes, while the doc finishes up and then we’ll meet you back in your room,” Harper promises, pressing the burrito-like bundle, near their heads, and they both move to hold him in place.

He settles almost immediately, recognizing his mom, and Clarke could feel the tear already heading towards her hairline, “He is beautiful, looks like you.”

“Probably won’t last,” he chuckles, finger rubbing softly at the red, chubby baby cheek, “bet he’s got those baby blues, just like the others.”

“And Blue eyes are supposed to be recessive,” she sniffs, pulling the blanket away from his cheek a little, “You are going to follow him to the nursery, and keep your eye on him.” she orders, just like she did with the last 3 babies.

“Of course,” he promises as Harper comes back to them, “Can I?”

“Just to the nursery door,” Harper points warningly, he nods and positions the baby so Clarke can place a kiss against his head.

When they get her back to her room, the boys are already waiting for her, Bellamy paces with a slow rock as they baby whines, “I didn’t let them feed him,” he’s moving toward her, as the nurse props up the bed, “I know you want to nurse him.”

They work together to get them set up, “he’s a champ,” she marvels as he latches immediately, “and hungry.”

“Well,” he smirks, “the boy clearly knows a good thing when he sees it.” The nurse had dimmed the lights on her way out, and they were just able to sit and enjoy the moment, little baby snuffles and their combined breaths, being the only sounds in the early morning hours.

“Hey,” she murmurs, squeezing his hand gently, “did you call Octavia?”

“I sent a text, let her know everything went great and that I would call her at a reasonable hour, sent her a pic too.”

“Hmm,” she acknowledged him, before gently detaching the now sleeping baby, “so number five. Are we done now?”

“That’s up to you,” he’s quick to answer, “I will happily raise as many babies as you want. Also, let’s stop calling him number five.”

“Well, we never came to an official conclusion on the name front,” she reminded him, “plus Jacob was totally my call.”

“So August Griffin Blake?” he asked, looking down at the baby once again, “you good with that?”

The baby stretches, arm breaking free of his swaddle, before comfortably settling again. “I’d say he agrees,” she whispers, and he catches a tear before it can completely fall down her face, “little Auggie, welcome to the world...we’re you Mom and Dad, and we are going to love you--so much. And protect you, with everything we have.” It’s the same thing she has said to all of their babies, and he marvels.

That he is lucky enough to do this with her, he could never ask for anything more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, go watch MamaDoctorJones, she has videos of all varieties and they are very informative for anyone who has female reproductive parts.


	3. Calm Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have challenged myself to post everyday in the month of December 2020...let's be honest it probably won't happen, but I'm going to make an honest effort here.

She can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as she finally puts the car in park. She can hear the sound of the garage door closing as she cuts the engine to her compact SUV. She starts to lean forward intent on placing her head on her hands, where they rest on the steering wheel; but before she can get there the seat belt stops her. All she has the energy for is to flop her head back against the headrest and let out a groan. Her eyes are heavy and she wants nothing more than to just sleep and _right now_; and if it was 6 months earlier she probably would have. But her stomach rumbles and then she feels the overly flappy butterfly sensation she’s beginning to grow used to, once again.

She pops the seatbelt free of it’s clip and eases the car door open, careful not to swing it too far and hit the wall for the thousandth time. Grabbing the empty tupperware from her passenger seat, she finally pulls herself out of the car and lets the door fall closed. 

The house is quiet and dark when she opens the door, it’s nearly 7 pm and she knows the other occupants are preparing for bedtime. She kicks off her sneakers just inside the door where they join several other pairs belonging to different members of the house. Her stomach rumbles again, when she takes a nice deep inhale through her nose. Pasta...her latest craving, and her husband’s specialty. She barely peeks into the oven before she hears the squealing upstairs and realizes that it is bath night; abandoning her mission for food and her tupperware on the counter she slowly begins climbing the stairs. 

Unlike downstairs, the hall light provides a beacon for her to navigate, and the hall bathroom light and open door confirm her suspicion. He’s kneeling shirtless in front of the tub, laughing as the baby squeals once again, and she sees water splash over the edge of the tub. The muscles of his back flex and smooth as he works to clean the baby, standing in the shallow water, and when the man moves to rinse the rag he’s using, the baby spots her.

“Mama!” His excitement and bright eyes are all it takes for her to push off the door jamb and move closer to the two men in her life.

“Hi baby!” she greets as enthusiastically as she can, grabbing the clean towel resting on the countertop, “you all clean?” The question is directed at her husband, but the 11-month-old nods perfunctorily. The man also nods, his dark curls limp and hanging almost to his eyes from the soaking they’ve endured from bath time; he’ll probably cut them soon and that makes her sad.

“You want to do bedtime and I’ll get your dinner ready?” he questions, once they’ve transferred the toddler into her arms and he’s wrapped up in the fluffy towel. His hand is warm against her lower back as they exit the bathroom.

“Please,” she can’t help but say, as they begin to move down the hallway, “and thank you.”

“Of course, princess,” he places a soft kiss against her hairline, and his hand slips to playfully grab her ass before he heads down the stairs.

“Fresh!” she calls out to him with a laugh turning to enter the nursery. “Your daddy is trouble.”

“Touble!” the toddler remarks, clapping as she lays him down on the changing table. Her wonderful husband has already laid out pajamas and a diaper, so all she really has to do is dress him for bed. 

“That’s right,” she nods, and once she has him dressed, she stands him up on the changing table and runs the towel over his dark curls, the ones that match his father’s and realizes that they’ll probably have to cut his hair before too much longer as well. She gives him a cursory comb through with a soft bristled brush, before sinking into the soft rocker in the corner. 

She’s so thankful that her husband had convinced her the padded chair was the way to go. She’d been after the classic wooden rocker, but he’d been adamant that between her work schedule and the baby’s feeding schedule, the chair should be as comfy as possible in case she ever fell asleep. And she had, so many times just nodded off, baby still nursing; only to wake when he came to check on them.

She hums softly, shifting slightly to accommodate the toddler, he’s already pulling at her shirt. “Slow down,” she huffs with a small chuckle finally freeing her breast and he latches like the pro he has been since the beginning. He grabs the hand not helping support his head and brings it to his chest so he can wrap both hands around her fingers. She marvels at him, her surprise of a baby boy and wiggles her fingers slightly to feel him tighten his grip. 

His eyes find hers easily in the dim light of the lamp in the corner and she can see the corner of his lips turn up slightly. He’s always so happy to see her; she melts with it every time. She begins humming again, and sets the rocker to a gentle beat. Then she just watches and he slowly drifts into sleep. She knows nights like this are numbered, she’s already at 16 weeks and while her doctor had promised her that she was more than capable of continuing to nurse straight through, she just wanted to get through his first year. 

He finds her some time later still staring, long after the baby has slackened completely into sleep. “He can’t possibly still be going?” he asks, moving into the room softly. 

“No,” she sighs just as quietly, “I’m just--”

“I know,” he nods, gently lifting him from her arms, easily transitioning him into the crib and despite a lot of trial and error, early on, deposits him without a hint of reaction. “Come on, you must be starving.”

“Now that you mention it,” she grins, rising to meet him at the doorway, quickly tucking back into her shirt. 

“Don’t cover up on my account.” he grins, gripping her shoulders in an easy massage as the head for the stairs.

“Did everything go okay today?” she asks as they sit down to dinner, he’s sipping at a beer as she practically inhales the pasta he made.

“She’s fine,” he nods, “their group left right after school and should reach DC by tomorrow morning.”

“She knows to call when they get there?” she questions again, stealing a sip from his beer, and his pointed look she shrugs, “one sip isn’t going to hurt anyone.”

“You don’t let your daughter get away with that argument,” he huffs.

“She’s 16,” she shrugs, “she should be scared of us.”

“She’s not,” he laughs, “and you are pregnant, a fetus is a lot younger than 16.”

“A fetus can’t get drunk and make stupid decisions,” she returns.

“Fair enough,” he nods, “you want to grab a shower and put on something comfy? I’ll cue up the Netflix and we can chill until you inevitably fall asleep on the couch.”

“I would take offense to that,” she smirks, “but this kid is kicking my ass, so I’m just going to take that to mean, you will be carrying me up to bed later on.”

“Of course,” he snorts and with a peck she’s on her way up the stairs again. She’s grateful for what she has cultivated in this life…and as she hears the telltale opening notes of Netflix opening she smiles to herself, ready to enjoy another peaceful night at home, knowing her family is safe and well loved.


	4. Massage Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far so good, we've made it to day 2 with a post. This is a reworking of an old Pucktana fic, I never posted, so if they seem ooc, I tried really hard to get them out of those characters, that's why.

i.

She’s dating Lexa and their relationship is one of the best things that has ever happened to her, but she can’t deny that she misses Bellamy. He’s been her best friend for as long as she can remember, and it sucks that they fell out over the summer between their sophomore and junior years, but she couldn’t say that she loved him back, not like he wanted. And he couldn’t just be her BFF, so they are giving each other space, and she’s dating Lexa.

She hears through the grapevine that his stepdad is back in town, the grapevine being Octavia and her constant need to meddle in her brother’s life. She’s known him since they were four, she’s met his stepdad; she knows that his stepdad left and she knows that if he’s back it can’t be anything good for him.

But the way their relationship operates, she can’t show up and ask him to talk, not anymore. He’ll flip and be sure to let her know that he doesn’t want her pity, and then pout, with those big baby eyes. So she has to ask him for something, if it had been a year earlier she would have just demanded that he talk to her. Now she can only think of one thing, “I want a massage.” She slides up next to him at his open locker in the hallway, the last bell has just rung and Lexa is distracted trying to work on some speech for the Junior Classical League.

He’s been giving her massages for years, it started in middle school when he picked up the idea somewhere that it would get girls to like him. He’d then practiced on her quite often through seventh and eighth grade, until he’d finally managed to get Gina to go out with him. Their _relationship_ had lasted until they’d gotten out for the summer, and then Gina’s family had moved away. Clarke had grown accustomed to her best friend taking care of her in this small way.

“Okay,” he nods, directing her to the parking lot and his waiting truck, “any particular reason why?”

“You know, just stress, the ACT is next week and my mom hasn’t stopped nagging me about it,” she shrugs, swinging herself up into his truck and tossing her bag over the seat, she knows he’ll drop her back at her house after, even though she can make the walk three houses down from his.

“What stress?” he asks, “seems to me like your life is pretty easy right now; you’ve got Lexa, Harvard is waiting on you--”

“I don’t know if that’s where I’m actually going,” she sighs, with an eye roll, he used to know these things about her, “My mom and Lexa think it’s a good idea, but my Mom has been aiming for the Ivy Leagues since I was in diapers and Lexa is just looking for us to stay together once she goes to Boston College. Plus, Octavia tells me you are thinking of moving to Florida.” 

“That was a dumb idea,” he rolls his eyes, pulling into the driveway at his Mom’s house, “I’m still considering my options, we still have a whole year of high school anyway.”

“We could head to New York, you know?” she questions, “we’ve always been there for each other, so maybe we move to New York and I become some bigshot doctor or attorney and you’ll be a fireman or like a cop or something, and we’ll be amazing.”

“That actually sounds really nice,” he smirks, quickly turning his back when she lifts her hoodie overhead, she’d started removing layers for their little ritual not long after they started high school, “let’s keep that one saved up, huh?”

“You got it,” she promises, as she settles onto his pristinely made bed. She hopes that she is taking his mind off his family woes for the afternoon, but also that she’s not invading his space after they’d agreed to keep some distance. It’s been several months, though, and he hadn’t put up a protest when she’d requested this treatment.

ii.

She’s _fucking_ best _fucking_ friends, with Raven _fucking_ Reyes, of all people. They’d shared a boyfriend for two whole weeks during their senior year of high school and she’d had no idea she was the other woman, but somehow they’d come out the other side as pretty good friends. And when the time came to make decisions about college she’d chosen pre-med at SUNY and Raven had picked an engineering program at the same university.

She lives with Bellamy in this really awesome one bedroom in Brooklyn. She’s on scholarship and gets a decent allowance from her parents and he picks up every odd job he can find while he goes to school. He’s come up with the perfect career (in his opinion), what’s better than getting to feel up a bunch of half-naked women and get paid for it? So what if he has to go to school for a few years to get a massage license. School had never been his strong suit, but when he’d realized that could accomplish the goal he’d set out for himself at 11 years old of getting girls to like him by giving them rubdowns, he’d figured it was worth it.

She and Lexa had broken up at the end of Clarke’s junior year, when Lexa had taken a scholarship to Boston College, they’d briefly tried to stay in touch, but _out of sight, out of mind_ was a saying for a reason. She’d briefly dated Finn, which led to the whole Raven situation. But since that epic disaster she’d been single and had managed to fall in love with her best friend, who she’s _positive_ had managed to move on from her after his love confession at the tender age of 15. 

Since she was living with Bellamy and hanging out with the Raven and her boyfriend, John Murphy as well as their new friends Harper and Monty (they were a sickeningly sweet married-at-19 couldn’t be happier couple), Bellamy and Clarke sort of fell into the same patterns. 

“Dinner’s here,” Bellamy announced entering their home. He carried a bag of what she assumed by the smell was Italian in one hand and a case of beer in the other, “guy on the corner said he’ll keep us stocked on the beer as long as we keep shopping with him, apparently we’re like his only customers.”

“That’s because from the outside it looks like some kind of drug compound,” she laughs, grabbing forks and plates from the kitchen, joining him on the floor in front of their low coffee table. She already had Netflix cued up to some documentary he’d been wanting to see.

“So I learned some new techniques today and I want to try them out,” he starts conversationally, focusing on the spaghetti he’s trying to twirl around his fork. He’s done this several times over the last two years as he tries to get better at his chosen craft.

“I’ve never been so smart as to agree to live with you,” she muses, “it’s like instant stress relief every night.”

“We could work on your stress in other areas,” he winked. He always made innuendos, so it wasn’t unexpected, lately she’d actually been thinking about taking him up on it, even knowing that it would probably ruin her if in the end it was nothing but sex for him.

His hands are like magic, of course she’s known this since middle school as he fumbled his way through the first several he’d given her, but now that he has training, his hands have extra magic powers. She’s probably the most relaxed pre-med major ever.

iii.

“How the _fuck_ did you get so good at this?” she groans into the mattress trying to ignore the fact that she’s _not at all interested_ in what he’s offering even though her body says differently.

“School,” he grumbles. And she knows that, because she’s lived with him for years and been his practice dummy for even longer. But it’d been a _minute_ since she’d asked or he’d offered. Once she’d managed to find an on-again off-again relationship with Niylah and he’d started dating Echo, they’d drifted away from this more intimate part of their friendship. But Echo had moved back home to California two months ago, and Clarke had put an end to her casual sex with Niylah not long after, “it’s like the perfect career.”

“I know,” she rolls her eyes, and sighs when he hits the perfect spot on her lower back, “plus it makes your friends like you even more.” She’d teased him about it often enough, once he’d officially gotten his certificate, but she knew that she wasn’t the only one in their friend group that took him up on the offer of free massages.

“Whatever,” he grumbles, letting his hands drift all the way down to her lower back, bracing thumbs on either side of her spine and reversing course back up the narrow column, “don’t even act like this isn’t the best massage you’ve ever had.”

“Of course it is,” she rolls her eyes knowing that even though he can’t see her he’s still going to scoff at her, “don’t get stingy on the good parts either.”

“I’m doing this for free, you’ll get what you get and like it,” he assures her.

She’s just finished med school and being thrown into the world of being an intern. Bellamy’s present, for her becoming an intern, a free massage for every 36 hour shift that she had to work. And she’d turned into jelly after every single one.

iv.

When she gets accepted for her residency in the city and he’s finally making enough to bump up their one bedroom to a two bedroom, she lets him get her off. It becomes part of the massage process from then on. 

He’s flirted with the edge of her towel before, but always backed off right at the last minute. Noticing the change in her breathing, and taking it as a sign she was no longer comfortable. She’s desperate though, as she hasn’t had anyone else do her the favor in almost a full year, and it’s not the worst thing if the best friend she’s secretly been in love with for the last five years gets her off on occasion.

“Clarke?” he groans sinking two fingers into her heat, he’s never been one for working a woman up, he’s never had to be. But he’s definitely taking his time with her. He’s not sure if he’ll ever get the chance again. And _fuck_ if he isn’t still in love her 8 years after he’d confessed it to her as a scrawny 15 year old. She didn’t need to know that he’d never managed to get over her. Those few months after he’d confessed and they hadn’t really seen or spoken to each other had been some of the worst in his life, and he never wanted to relive them.

So, he’s going to take his time getting her off now, and hope that she doesn’t decide to move out tomorrow morning.

v.

“What are you doing?” he asks, leaving the steam filled bathroom. She’s dressed in a pair of his old boxers and nothing else. They’ve developed a pretty good, friends with benefits relationship over the last several months, and he crosses his fingers everyday praying that she doesn’t realize he’s still madly in love with her.

“Returning the favor?” she shrugs, physically moving him from the doorway between the bed and bath rooms so she can grab a stack of towels to lay out.

“But you don’t know how,” he grumbles, watching as she arranges the table and then all of his supplies.

“It’s not rocket science, baby,” she laughs, and he wants to retort that even though it isn’t rocket science he has put in several years of schooling and training to be as good at his job as he is, “Plus I’m a doctor and I’ve been with you enough, that I’m pretty sure I can figure out how to make you feel good.”

“You know I went to school for this right? I didn’t just start rubbing people down for no reason,” he sighs, and it met with an unimpressed look, remembering that that was in fact how he started, by massaging her when they were still just pre-teens. “Fair point,” he snorts, flopping onto his massage table. He’d upgraded to a better quality one not that long ago because he’s working on expanding his business, and the quality of his equipment is a factor in how much he can charge, “But it’s not just something you do.”

“For most people it is,” she reminds him, loosening the towel at his waist but not removing it completely. She pours the oil directly onto his back and laughs as he flounders around helplessly.

“Did you leave it on the warmer for an _hour_? That’s way too hot,” and she almost feels bad, hearing the slight pain in his voice accompanied by the redness popping up across his back.

“No, I popped it in the microwave for twenty seconds,” she snorts, gently swiping at his broad shoulders, “Please whine a little more,” she continues, before focusing on his shoulders and working the tension free as best she can.

“You’re pushing too hard,” he mumbles against the bed, “you shouldn’t be making me more tense. And don’t _ever_ put that oil in the microwave again, it cost way too much for you to waste it by ruining it like that.”

“Sorry,” now she really does feel bad about it, “And have you ever felt some of what you’ve done to my back?” she questions, easing off because she doesn’t _want_ to hurt him.

“I went to school,” he reminds her yet again, but can’t help but groan when she finds the sensitive spot in his neck that will have him turning to jelly in no time.

“See isn’t this nice when I return favors?” she asks with a laugh, he’s been moaning non-stop for nearly ten minutes. She’s always had trouble convincing him that their relationship should be equal give-and-take, (yeah he asks her to go down on him, and she gladly does, but it’s maybe a quarter as often as she requests it from him). She blames his step dad, because he never did anything for his mom so Bellamy overcompensates with all the women in his life, by giving them twice as much as they ask for.

“We should totally put this on paper, make it legal,” he’s talking quietly into the mat as she continues down his back. He doesn’t want to start with the love confession, so he figures this will be a decent way of feeling out where her feelings are, but all the while bracing himself for rejection similar to the one he faced at 15.

“What are you talking about?” she wants to see his face, she doesn’t know if she’s put him into a pleasure coma, or if he’s serious.

“We’re nearing thirty, don’t you want a person?” he questions, and she eases her hands off his back and he brings his arms up to begin lifting himself off the table.

“You are my person,” she retorts in a tone that she realizes comes across too harsh, so she softens her tone, “I don’t need some kind of legal document to tell me otherwise. And how is 27 nearly 30?"

He ignores her question, intent on driving his point home now that he has started, “But wouldn’t it be nice to have one,” he rolls onto his back, motioning for her to work on his chest. She tries to ignore the tent in his towel, that still hangs loosely, not at all secure, or the way he lays his head back all relaxed like he’s not talking about what she thinks he’s talking about with her.

“Say what you’re saying Blake,” she wants to put her hands on her hips, she pauses halfway there remembering they’re covered in oil. Then reminds herself they’re his shorts anyway.

“Marry me.” he doesn’t ask, just says it, figures he’s dug himself enough of a hole now, he might as well go for broke.

“You really want to marry your best friend since childhood?” she questions, easily avoiding eye contact and inching closer toward his waist. “Don’t you want to fall in love?”

“I’ve been in love with you since I was 14, hell probably longer than that,” he sits up suddenly, reaching for her face, “you have always been it for me.”

“And what if I don’t love you back?” she replies softly, still keeping her eyes averted from his face.

“I have enough love to make up for both of us,” he shrugs, it hurts to know that she still doesn’t love him the way he loves her, but he’ll live with it if she’ll be with him anyway.

“And if I do love you back?” she finally meets his eyes, “what then?”

“Then, I say you marry me.” he smirks, his heart is hopeful, rising into his throat, and he feels he’s about to get everything he’s ever wanted.

“Alright.”


	5. Massage Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of yesterday's series.

vi.

“I can’t believe we actually did it,” her laugh is downright joyous as they tumble into their suite at the hotel they’re staying in that night.

She’s wearing a ridiculously big white dress and he’s still in his tuxedo, bowtie hanging around his neck, collar popped open and sleeves rolled up. There are rose petals scattered on what seems like every surface around the room, but she zeros in on the bed and falls back against is with a breathless chuckle.

“Why are you so surprised?” he balances over her, hands resting on either side of her head, “I’ve wanted to marry you since I was 4.”

“Okay, we get it,” she rolls her eyes at him, “I’m the emotionally stunted one in this relationship, but I got there eventually.”

“Yes--you--did,” he drops three kisses against her lips, upside down, no less, before standing straight again. He’s stripped his shirt, and is popping the champagne when she sits up. “So, bath? Bed? Sex?”

“Is that a question, or the order in which you wish to do those things?” she smirks, reaching for the hidden zip at her side. Allowing the dress to loosen around her and then fall to the floor when she stands.

“Well...we do have an early flight tomorrow morning,” he shrugs, matching her smirk as he prowls towards her. 

“How about...massage…” she trails off, peeling her strapless bra off next, “then sex...then sleep?”

“Uh huh,” he nods, mesmerized by the figure she makes, standing in front of him in nothing but a sheer lace thong and a gleaming ring on her finger.

She laughs at him, when he doesn’t move and she realizes he hasn’t heard a word she’s said, “Get to it,” she instructs, flopping back on the bed, face down this time and then pulls a soft pillow under her head, turning to look at him.

“I--” his voice squeaks, and he clears his throat, “I didn’t bring any oil with me.”

“I’m sure you can find something to improvise with,” she shrugs lightly.

He does manage to find lotion in the bathroom, and squirts some into his hand, rubbing them together to warm it up, before starting to rub it in to her shoulders. She’s already pretty relaxed, having had a few glasses of champagne at their reception, and a full day of pampering the day before. But she’s missed him, and his hands on her.

His sister and her best friend had whisked her off yesterday morning for a full spa day, and then they’d barely had a chance to speak to each other the night before as they’d rehearsed, only for Octavia, and Raven to separate them once again, sending him home to their apartment and sequestering her at Raven’s. Of course, they’d then been kept apart all day, finally seeing each other when she made her walk down the aisle.

Her mother had marched her from family member to family friend for the entirety of the reception and she felt like she’d barely seen him at all over the last two days. “So, was today everything you wanted it to be?” he questioned, smoothing his hands down her arms and then working away at her fingers gently.

“We are married by the end of it,” she sighs, “but I definitely would’ve preferred to see you more.”

“Same,” he agrees, before moving to her other hand, “also, I realize they are now also my family, but damn there sure are a lot of them, and they have a lot of opinions about having a masseuse in the family.”

“They’ll get over it,” she promises, and then sighs deep when he presses on a particularly sensitive spot on the back of her thigh. “You just about done?”

“You’re the one that wanted the massage,” he grumbles, “let me do your other leg,” he protests when she starts to move again.

vii.

“I can’t believe you actually went back to school for this,” she’s in a state of pure and total bliss as his hands run gently around her belly.

“It was mainly for Murphy,” he shrugs, “he wanted to do something nice for Emori, but he didn’t want someone else feeling up his wife; even though she was like a weeble wobble with his spawn.”

“God she was huge wasn’t she?” Clarke can’t help but laugh.

“It’s only cause she’s so short,” he agrees, framing her belly and smoothing the oil upward towards her belly button, being careful to add the exact amount of pressure that is not only comfortable but also relieving, “you been feeling him turn?”

He’s done this before, it’s actually a pretty lucrative market, now that most of his friends and their wives are having families, so he knows that the firm roundness he feels at the side of her belly, is more than likely the head, and his son is probably turning to the correct position for delivery. Several OBs in the area actually refer women to him when their babies haven’t begun to turn later in their pregnancies.

“He’s definitely more active recently,” she nods, he can tell by the way her head is rolling to the side that she’s ready to go to sleep. He abandons their baby to stand at the head of the mat, and frames her face between his forearms to massage at her shoulders. “Hey,” she murmurs, opening her eyes to see him standing directly over her.

“Hi,” he bends, a little awkwardly to kiss her lips, before refocusing on his work. He watches her entire body, hoping to see her feet, which are pointing straight toward the ceiling, relax and fall sideways. “You’re too stressed.”

“You try carrying around a tiny human for seven months and then we’ll talk about stress,” she groans when he finds a particularly sensitive knot in the back of her shoulder. “And then I have to deal with the crack doctors at the hospital, I’m almost positive some of them did nothing more than pay for their degrees.”

“Well, you’re on maternity leave now so forget about all of that,” he murmurs, close to her ear continuing on the spot he’s found, “focus on you and the kid.”

“Do you talk like this with all your customers?” she asks with a soft laugh, “You’re like...part therapist.”

“Just the pregnant ones,” he chuckles as well, her shoulders are now completely limp and he focuses on her brow and cheeks, knowing her face gets tense when she’s too stressed, “I like to think it helps.”

“It’s working for me,” she promises, moaning low when he circles behind her ears and focuses on pressure points to reduce her tenseness, and internally cheers as her legs go lax and her feet fall to the table.

“Feet now or later?” he asks, giving a few easy squeezes as he makes his way down her arms and then circles her belly once again. He places a quick kiss against the foot that just kicks out at him just under her ribs.

“Both,” she mumbles, as her breathing begins to slow.

She’s asleep by the time he’s given each foot a solid workout. 

viii.

He’d expected to find her napping when he returned home from work, just like every other day since she’s gone on maternity leave. But instead he finds her squatting, using the arm of the couch as support. She’s been doing yoga for years, so when she found out she was pregnant she immediately signed up for the pregnancy yoga classes at their gym. It’s not until he sees the way her fingers are digging into the fabric, or that she’s barely breathing does he realize what’s happening.

“Holy shit,” he drops his coat on the couch, pocketing his keys before placing his hand over hers. It’s not like he should really be surprised, she has been contracting on and off for days and she’d gone to get a pedicure that morning specifically for the purpose of stimulating the pressure points in her feet, known to induce labor.

“Don’t touch me,” the pleading in her voice does something weird to his heart, he can’t bear to think about what it is that is making her sound so anguished, “I can’t.”

“You okay?” he questions, when her shoulders finally relax and her grip unfurls. 

“Uh huh,” she hums with a nod, “Jackson said I have to wait until they’re less than seven minutes apart,” she rises from her squatting position, and leans forward to place a kiss against his lips. He can taste the salty sweat on her upper lip, proving just how strenuous her morning has already been, especially because they practically live in an icebox, (in December) since she has her own personal little space heater growing inside of her.

“And how far apart are they?” he questions, taking the hand she offers, to act as a counterweight, so she can lower herself onto the couch. He’s amazed at how she seems to be able to squat without much effort, but getting up and down off the couch seems to cause her issues, lately.

“Twenty or so,” she nods as if double checking her own memory. “How was work?”

“Nothing exciting,” he shrugs, “Same old, same old, I think we finally got that kink worked out of Mr. Smith’s back though, so hopefully he’ll be able to walk upright again.”

“That’s nice,” she sighs, “Go take a shower,” she nods toward their room, “I’m not going anywhere and the kid’s not popping out anytime soon.”

He double checks his watch, noting the time and roughly estimating the few minutes from her last contraction before placing a kiss against her hairline, “I’ll be quick,” he promises.

She’s crouched in a similar position at the foot of their bed, when he steps out of the bathroom, wearing only his briefs, a damp towel still draped over his bare shoulder. He notices that once again she’s not really breathing and he’s afraid to interrupt her, but he also knows that it’s only going to get worse.

“Baby,” he kneels behind her, keeping his voice gentle, bracing his hands outside of her own, being careful not to touch her, “you need to breathe.”

“Uh huh,” her answer isn’t really any syllables but a humming as if she understands what he’s saying even though he doesn’t notice a change that signifies she’s actually heard him.

Outside of his training in prenatal massage, where he did learn a significant amount about labor and the application of massage during the delivery process, he also happened to take a _Dad’s Course_ at the local community center, when it was offered. It wasn’t anything too complicated, basically a bunch of seminars on labor, delivery, newborns, and even one on how to help your partner during the immediate aftermath. So he feels pretty confident in what he’s about to do, even though she asked not to be touched. With practiced ease, he slides his hands down her sides until his thumbs settle just above the curve of her ass and he presses gently until he feels her push back against his hands, “better?”

She nods her head but doesn’t speak. Her head bows to her chest and she takes a deep breath before rocking forward from his hands, “I lied about letting you touch me,” she wants to laugh at herself, settling back against his chest, bringing his hands up to her sides, “as long as you keep doing that, I’ll keep you around.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he promises with a kiss to the side of her head, using his towel to wipe away the dampness from her forehead, “that was less than twenty minutes,” he observes checking the bedside alarm clock.

“About 17,” she nods, rising from between his legs and tossing a long sleeve thermal shirt at his chest, “get dressed, I need to walk and I’m tired of pacing this house.”

He pulls on jeans and a flannel, grabs his coat off the back of the couch before helping her into her own. “Don’t even think about it,” she grumbles when he starts to wrap a scarf around her neck, “it may be near freezing outside, but I already feel like I’m burning up.”

They hold hands as they stroll through their suburban neighborhood. He thinks it’s ironic sometimes how they ended up here, making the perfect stepford family. It’s not something he thought he would ever get to have, knowing he’d been in love with her for so much longer than she’d loved him.

They stop every so often when she takes a swift inhale, and clutches at his hand more tightly. Sometimes he’ll rub at her side, others he’ll apply gentle pressure into her palm, knowing he’s found the magic spot when she whimpers. It’s not a side he thought he’d ever see of her. It took a long time for him to feel like they were on equal footing in their relationship. But he gets to see all these amazing parts of her, parts he never thought were possible. But he’s seen them and he knows they are there and he knows that this experience above all others is what is really going to bind them forever.

He shouldn’t really be surprised by the fact that she is almost entirely silent through the process of labor, she’s always been an incredibly strong, yet singularly focused woman, only speaking during breaks or when completely necessary. She sways and walks nonstop for hours, and he thinks her legs must hurt, but then he rationalizes that her pain elsewhere is probably distracting enough, she doesn’t even notice.

ix.

“I can’t believe this is a real thing,” Clarke whispers, settling on the opposite side of their bed.

Bellamy has Auggie laid out on his softest blanket, between his legs, fresh from his bath and dressed only in a clean diaper. They’ve significantly raised the thermostat since coming home from the hospital. He’s six days old and this is the first bath he’s had at home, and Bellamy is preparing to give him his first massage.

“Once again, I’ll remind you, I went to school…” Bellamy trails off as she finishes his sentence, with an eye roll, “and yes it is a real thing, and a great way for baby bonding.”

He squirts a small dollop of baby lotion into his palm, rubbing his hands together to make sure it won’t be too cold against the baby’s skin, before reaching for both baby feet in front of him. He gives them gentle squeezes before moving up to his calves and then his skinny newborn thighs. Auggie is a long skinny baby, but Jackson had assured them, after his newborn weight drop, he’d start putting it on steadily as long as continued to eat. 

“I think he likes it,” Clarke sighs, watching Auggie blink up at them, “he’s not crying at least.”

“Let’s see how he feels about his chest,” Bellamy hums, getting a tiny bit more lotion before using placing both hands on the baby’s tummy and moving upward slowly flattening his palms and then moving towards the tiny shoulders and arms. 

“He’s so in love with you,” Clarke laughs, as Auggie’s eyes slip closed, and then struggle to open again, “can’t say that I really blame him, I fell in love with your massages too.”

“Let’s see if the facial actually puts him to sleep,” Bellamy murmurs, smirking slightly at her, taking another small dab of lotion to work in circular motions around the baby’s face and plump cheeks.

“Score one for the new dad,” she smiles softly, when he finishes and Auggie is in fact asleep.

“Guess we’re not too bad off at this whole thing, huh?”


	6. Blood Donor Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made it to day 4, and I'm impressed with myself so far. This series will probably be the next four or five days.

Bellamy quickly closes his classroom door as the last student from his second block left. His planning period being third block meant that he had more time than most teachers, but today he was donating blood for the school’s annual blood drive. His students had begged him for weeks to donate and even though he hated needles and blood in general, he knew that donating blood was a good thing. Plus Ark High was trying to beat out Polis Academy for largest drive in the county and it would be impressive if their measly, little public school beat out one of the largest private schools in the surrounding counties.

So he’d made a deal with them, that if they all passed his latest test, he’d donate blood. His AP students had then taken it upon themselves to set up a study hall, and they’d worked their asses off to help their peers, he had several students come within a five point margin of passing. Knowing that they’d worked hard and actually studied he’d awarded them a passing score and promised his kids that he would donate.

He drags his feet on the way to the gymnasium. Harper Green, the school nurse and faculty in charge, greets him cheerily when he steps foot inside. The open space has been transformed. There are cots set up every ten feet and people milling about. He sees several students already hooked up and donating.

“Are you going to donate?” she asks, already leaning forward to begin typing at her laptop. “You do have an appointment!” she’s shocked.

Bellamy can’t blame her, they’ve been friends since they were in high school themselves. They didn’t hang out until they were in college and Harper began dating one of his good friends, Monty. “I made a deal with the kids,” he nods.

“But Bellamy...you do know the process for donating blood still involves _needles_...and _blood_?” she asks, “like that hasn’t changed.”

“I know,” he nods, and shuffles his feet, “but I promised them, and it's for a good cause, right?”

“Okay,” Harper is skeptical, but she finishes checking him in and then asks if he completed the pre-questionnaire already.

“Oh, uh yeah,” he mumbles, already fumbling for the phone in his pocket.

“I don’t need it,” she smiles softly at him, placing a sticker against his shoulder, with his name on it, and a catchy slogan about saving lives, “hang onto that until a nurse comes to get you okay?” he hums his acknowledgment, “We’re going to send you to the front of the line, so that you can get done and be ready to go back to class, okay?”

“Next,” a petite blonde calls from behind a privacy booth against the wall of the gym.

“There you go,” Harper nods, and Bellamy shuffles over to the woman, nervously.

“I’m Dr. Griffin, and I’ll be handling your donation today,” she smiles brightly, motioning for him to take a seat.

“A doctor?” he asks, “isn’t this a little below your paygrade?”

“A little,” she shrugs, “but they needed volunteers and I have the day off.”

“Okay,” he smiles, shakily.

“Bellamy Blake?” she questions reading from the sticker, quickly typing his name into her laptop, “First time donor?”

“Yes,” he nods, he grips his hands together and startles at how cold his fingers feel.

“Well, you’re in good hands, I promise,” she places a hand against his as she scrolls on her computer. She quickly verifies his name, address, date of birth, height, and weight, before pulling out a blood pressure cuff. “Both feet flat on the floor for me?”

He sits up straighter as she wraps the cuff around his upper arm. She hums quietly as the cuff inflates against his arm, her stethoscope pressed into the bend of his elbow. “It’s a little high,” she murmurs, pulling the cuff from his arm. “Are you nervous?”

“Uh yeah,” he stutters, “I don’t exactly like needles...or blood for that matter.”

“Yet here you are,” she smiles at him, “may I ask why?”

“I made a deal with my students,” he sighs, “they want to beat Polis and they all passed their last test.”

“Okay,” she smirks, “did you complete the pre-questionnaire?”

This time when he fumbles for his phone he’s able to open it successfully in order to show her the QR code the website had given him, “I-ah-think I answered everything...”

“You did, or else it wouldn’t have given you the code,” she promises, scanning it quickly and going back to her computer, “looks like everything is good here. Okay, I’m going to check your pulse, I suspect it’s going to be fairly high?”

“Probably,” he wipes his sweaty palms against his khakis, before offering up his wrist to her. She studies her watch as she presses her fingers to his radial artery. He does his best to focus on slowing his breathing, hoping that will help calm his nerves.

“105,” she smiles at him, “that is definitely a little high for what we want, but I can tell you're nervous, so we’ll let that go.”

“It’s not normally that high,” he motions to the watch on his wrist, “I’m usually in the upper 60s.”

“That’s really good,” she nods, “Okay, now the fun part, I have to check your iron levels so that we know you won’t pass out when we start taking blood from you.”

“It involves a needle doesn’t it?” he questions, and offers up his hand when she motions towards it. 

“Yes, but you don’t actually see it,” she shows him the small, flat, plastic rectangle, “I just push this against your finger and you’ll feel a prick and then there will be some blood. I’ll collect it in this little vial right here, pop it on the machine and it’ll tell us whether or not you're anemic.” She puts on gloves for this part and prepares a bandaid to quickly apply once she’s ready, “your fingers are a little cold, means your blood isn't circulating in them right now, see if you can warm them up, armpits work great.”

“You do this with all of your patients?” he asks, sticking his right hand under his left arm, he feels a little silly, but decides it must be normal practice.

“When I volunteer for these things,” she nods, “everyone is here to help, and they are donating a very precious thing, it doesn’t pay to be mean to people.”

“I hope all of your colleagues feel the same way,” he sighs, glances around, and then can’t help but ask, “is this a good turnout for you guys?”

“I think so,” she smiles, “I’m not normally here for this part, but the organizer seemed very pleased with the length of the list.”

“Good,” he nods.

“Alright, give me your hand,” she instructs, she gives his fingers a quick squeeze and then moves his hand behind a tiny plexiglass screen, “look away,” she instructs squeezing at his middle finger tip. He diverts his eyes as instructed but still feels the sting of a prick and then she’s squeezing his finger again, “press with your thumb,” she instructs, placing gauze against his finger and he finally turns back to look at what she’s doing. “Now we just wait for this little machine to do its job.”

He nods, pressing against the gauze on his middle finger, and she reaches for his hand again, he let’s go and she takes the gauze, dabbing once more at his finger before wrapping it in a bandage. “There we go, 15, that’s a perfect number for us.”

“Awesome,” he smiles at her once again, and then she motions for him to follow her as they move towards the main part of the gym.

“Are you thinking left arm or right arm for the donation?” She asks stopping in front of a table.

“I don’t know, how do you know what’s best?” he suddenly panics, was he supposed to have researched this.

“Well are you right or left handed?” she places a hand against his forearm to calm him.

“Right.”

“So let’s see if we have a good vein in your left arm, that way you can avoid using it for the rest of the day, okay?” he gives a jerky nod at her explanation and she is easily able to locate a vein in his left arm, “you have good veins.”

“Thank you?” he questions, _is that something you thank someone for?_

“You lean back right here,” she points to the table, “and prop your arm up here for me,” she gives the support sticking out from the side a pat, “and work on rolling this in your hand, while I get everything set up.”

She places a stress sponge in his left hand, before moving back to a center table, and he follows her instructions of rolling it as best he can. He tries not to look around too much, afraid he’ll see something he _really_ doesn’t want to. And then she returns with several empty blood bags and what seems like a mile of tubing.

“Give me your full name and date of birth again?” He rattles off the information quickly and she nods, before moving to his arm. “I’m going to put this cuff on your arm, okay?” he nods, and then he’s transfixed watching her, after placing the cuff, she studies the bend of his elbow, tracing along his vein, until she’s sure she found the perfect spot. “I promise this washes off really easily,” she’s using a felt tip marker to make a neat little box on his arm. “You aren’t allergic to iodine are you?”

“No,” he mumbles and then she’s spreading the cool liquid from a large q-tip looking device onto the spot she just marked.

“This is just making sure everything is nice and clean,” she remarks, turning to discard her tools in the trash before turning back to him again, this time holding a large needle. “So, from here on, I’m going to instruct you, to not watch what I’m doing, okay?”

He nods, quickly averting his eyes to look straight in front of him, and he feels like he’s doing a good job, “Squeeze for three seconds,” she instructs and he feels her press at his vein gently, “okay, just a little pinch...and I’m in, keep looking elsewhere.” 

He makes sure to keep his eyes up as he turns his head to look at her, “I barely felt that,” he compliments.

“Good,” she smirks, “looks like you are filling the bag quite nicely. You’re a good bleeder.”

“First time anyone has complimented my ability to bleed,” he remarks casually.

“Well from here, it looks like it’ll only take you just a few minutes,” she met his eyes briefly before focusing again on his blood draw, “keep turning that stresser.”

He focuses on doing just that, and it feels like in no time she’s telling him to stop, and that he has filled his bag. “You are almost done,” she promises, “Just have to fill a couple of these tubes, so that we can run all the required tests.”

“Okay,” he nods, and then he makes the mistake of glancing down to see what she’s doing, and he is confronted with his blood filling the tiny tube in her hands. But it doesn’t matter how tiny the tube, the sight has his vision blurring around the edges.

“Bellamy!” Clarke’s voice is sharp all of a sudden, and the next thing he knows he has a cool cloth on his forehead, his feet elevated and he’s laying flat. “Hey there handsome, glad to see you back with us.”

“Ugh,” he groans, rolling his eyes at himself, “I was doing so well.”

“Well, good news for you is that they’ve got someone else watching your classes for the rest of the day, and you get to stay here and eat some sugary snacks, and drink lots of fluids,” Harper chimes in, and Bellamy can feel the heat in his cheeks, knowing that he’s screwed this up.

“And your donation is going to save 3 lives,” Clarke informed him, “whenever you feel like you're ready you can sit up and we’ll get some fluids in you. Do you want orange juice or apple?” 

“Now I know this is below your paygrade,” he mumbles, and does manage to sit himself up. 

“You might be right, but you’re my favorite,” she winks conspiratorially and the quirks an eyebrow, “so? Orange or apple?”

“Apple,” he decides, and she’s bouncing off to grab that for him.

“You should ask her out,” Harper whispers to him, as he tracks her with his eyes.

“Harper,” he groans, “people don’t deserve to be hit on while they are working, and especially not while volunteering.”

“I know,” she nods, “but I’m pretty sure she’d actually be okay with you asking her out.”

“I’d like something a little more concrete than pretty sure,” he grumbles to her as Clarke comes back to them.

“Okay, I grabbed you some oreos, apple juice, and some water,” she sets her score down on the bed next to him, “and I’m sorry, but I do have to help out with other donors. You stay there as long as you need to, I don’t need to actually fainting on me.”

“Looks like I was right,” Harper smirks as Clarke leaves them again. Bellamy quirks an eyebrow at her, and she points at the water bottle sitting next to him. And there in blocky letters and numbers is the name Clarke Griffin followed by a winky face and a phone number. “Give it a shot Blake.”

“Let me make it out of the gym without completely embarrassing myself first,” he chuckles, sipping at the water, glancing in Clarke’s direction again. And she glances up at him and winks before turning back to the lanky teen boy now sitting at her cubicle.


	7. Blood Donor Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 of 31

Six months after the first time he donates he makes a similar deal with this students and once again finds himself approaching the high school gym with trepidation. Thankfully, after the last time his students only gave him a mild amount of teasing and grief, so when his new group of students approached with a similar deal, he’d agreed.

He also now has a secret weapon, his girlfriend is once again volunteering and she’s promised that she’ll once again be taking his blood. Harper grins when she sees him, tapping the sticker hanging off the edge of the table with his name written neatly on it. He nods his thanks and places it against his collar bone. He has first period planning this semester, so there is no one in line yet, because the drive hasn’t even technically started yet.

Clarke smirks and nods for him to join her at her little cubicle against the wall. “Good morning,” he offers her a sugary coffee drink, he’d stopped on his way in that morning to get it. She’d spent the night at her own place, because she knew she’d have to be up super early to get to the school and help set up. 

“I have I ever told you that you’re my favorite?” she grins, taking a soothing sip, humming softly and then turning her face up to his in search of morning kiss. He glances around to ensure there aren’t any students around, before he places a small peck against her lips.

“You have mentioned that, but I’ll take the prize as many times as you want to give it to me,” he winks, and then settles into the plastic folding chair.

She asks the required questions about his name, date of birth, height and weight, before holding up the blood pressure cuff. “It’s not even high this time,” she smiles, typing in the numbers, “don’t guess you’re really that nervous, this time?”

“Still plenty nervous,” he promises, “but you’ll take care of me.”

“Always,” she gives him a sincere, soft look that he feels his heart melt a little. He tucks his hand under his armpit once she’s done with his pulse, he can already tell how cold his fingers are, and doesn’t need the instruction this time.

This part is easy, and he easily gets to the table with his arm propped up before he really feels his nerves kick in. She’s as gentle as ever though, and softly strokes his forearm as she works to prepare all of her materials. “Alright,” she finally looks up into his eyes, “let’s make sure you keep your eyes diverted the whole time this time, okay?”

“Whatever shall I focus on then?” he asks her, he’s already dutifully spinning the spongy block she’s placed in his palm.

“I don’t know, when are Octavia and Lincoln going to visit again?” she asks, and he feels the slight pinch as she inserts the needle into his arm.

“Probably not until Christmas,” he sighs, and leans his head back, choosing to look up at the ceiling, “she’s going to be so pregnant by then.”

“That’s exciting,” he can hear the smile in her voice, but doesn’t turn to look at her.

“Yeah, I know you already know this, but I can’t wait to be an uncle,” he sighs.

“I would’ve never guessed based on the number of baby items, you’ve already purchased,” she snorts, “but I honestly can’t wait to meet this little baby either.”

“Good,” he nods, “because if everything works out like I plan, you’re going to be an aunt.”

“Oh yeah?” she laughs, “you got some big plans, I need to know about?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” he turns to glance at her and winks, “I’ve got it all under control.”

“Alright, Casanova,” she laughs, and he loves that the idea of marriage doesn’t freak her out. “You are done, again, don’t look until I give you the all clear, okay?”

“I got it,” he rolls his eyes.

“Hey Mr. Blake,” a lanky teenager calls, and Bellamy glances around, realizing that he is no longer the only donor in the gym.

“Hi Jasper,” Bellamy nods to him, “You planning to use this to get out of your test later today?”

“Of course not,” he shakes his head, “are you going to pass out again?”

“Oh haha,” Bellamy gives him a stern look, and Jasper scampers away, clearly intimidated by his teacher.

“Glad to see you don’t let those teenagers push you around,” she laughs, “don’t look, but hold this to your arm and keep your arm elevated.”

He holds the gauze as instructed, and she disappears from his side. Returning minutes later, with oreos, a water, and an apple juice, “You can look now,” she sets her items down by his thigh, pulling his arm down and placing a band-aid, and then wrapping his arm, “you can take this off in an hour, leave the band-aid for about 4.”

“Kay,” he nods, already cracking open the apple juice, taking a sip.

“And hey?” she questions, “I’m proud of you,” she places a kiss against his cheek, before telling him she’s got to move on.

“I’ll see you later?” he asks, before she makes it too far.

“If you play your cards right, I’ll even buy you dinner and deliver it to your door.”

“Can’t wait.” he calls. He’s impressed with himself, and feels great for the rest of the day, he doesn’t even let Jasper’s comments about the hot doctor that was totally hitting on Mr. Blake, bother him during fourth block as he’s passing out their tests.

He just winks at the kids snickering, “I’m planning to propose to her this weekend,” and laughs as they gape at him, when he settles behind his desk.


	8. Blood Donor Pt. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short today, I had a lot going on, but I'm still trying to post at least once a day for the month of December. So this makes 6/31.

The sixth time he donates blood, his students have caught on to his game, and are already acing their tests before even asking him about donating blood. They’ve been killing it against Polis for the last two years and he doesn’t have the heart to tell them, that his one measly pint doesn’t make a difference, or that he doesn’t need their bribe anymore.

Clarke is now his wife and they actually offered to pay her to organize the event, so she’s not even going to be drawing anyone’s blood. However, she has promised to distract him while he was donating. So as he makes his way to the gym this time, it’s near the end of day, because he has his planning period at the end of the day. 

Harper is still the first one to greet him, and this time it’s an older woman by the name of Indra that goes through his history, and checks his vitals. Once she’s got him settled and turns to grab supplies, “You causing trouble?”

He smiles, when she sidles up to him, she runs a hand through his curls, perching on the bed next to him, “Hi.”

“Hi back,” she grins, then pats his thigh, “don’t let this one give you any trouble Indra.”

“I’m sure he’ll be a model patient,” she’s very straight-faced, and he raises an eyebrow Clarke, only for her to try and hold back her laughter.

“Well he has a pretty big thing about needles and blood, so we just have to find a way to distract him,” Clarke supplies.

“Easy enough,” Bellamy sighs, “did you see the video Octavia uploaded this morning?” 

“No, was it a good one, what’s my favorite nephew up to now?” Clarke pulls her phone from her pocket easily unlocking it.

“Announcing he’s going to be a big brother,” Bellamy smirks.

“No way!” she pulls up the video Octavia has posted to instagram, showing the one-year-old Charlie, chattering about ‘brudder’. “God! Those two make super cute kids,” she sighs, dreamily.

“Just imagine how cute are kids are going be,” he teases, it’s a conversation they’ve been having a lot lately.

“I don’t know, they are going to be pretty cute, but it’s going to be hard to top this munchkin,” she tilts her phone at him, it’s one of her favorite photos, uncle and nephew reading a children’s mythology book, Bellamy pointing out something to the toddler, that has them both grinning.

“You’re all set Mr. Blake,” Indra interrupts their banter, “I’ll get someone to bring you a snack and a drink, and then you should be good for the rest of the day. Leave the wrap for an hour, and the band-aid for four, and try not to do too much with this arm.”

“Look at you,” Clarke grins, “you’re practically an expert by now. Two more pints and you’ll have donated a whole gallon.”


	9. Blood Donor Pt. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one isn't very long either, but I've got some longer things in the works for later in the month.

He’s an old pro by the time he surpasses a gallon of blood donated, he doesn’t even flinch when the needle is inserted, and is fiddling with his phone to keep from glancing at the injection site. Clarke is roaming around the open area filled with beds and people donating blood. She has a clipboard balancing against her rounded belly as she records some pertinent piece of information.

She pauses, when her eyes land upon them, she thinks for sure that his appointment isn’t for another hour or so, but here he is. A model patient these days, he clearly doesn’t even need her reassurances anymore. She’s about to step over to him to make a teasing comment, when one of the phlebotomists, shouts they need help, and she watches as a tiny teenage girl collapses beside a bed.

“There’s no way this girl weighs enough to have donated blood,” she remarks, waddling over to the bed, as two of her volunteers help to get the girl up onto the table.

“She doesn’t,” the tech who called for help sighs, “she just caught sight of all the blood, and went down like a sack of bricks.”

That’s when she noticed, the teenage boy two steps away, fresh bandage on his arm, “well, let’s make sure he’s okay,” Clarke instructs, and then lifts the girls arm to take a pulse, before dropping the head of the bed, so that she’s in a reclined position and blood will flow toward her head, hopefully waking her up.

“He’s fine, he donated two hours ago, he’s just here now helping out.”

“Then why is she here now?” Clarke questions, looking up at the tech.

“That’s a question for Mrs. Green, I can’t keep up with all the students coming in and out to help,” he shrugs.

“Make sure she has something with sugar, and is actually cognizant before you let her leave,” Clarke demands, before heading for the table Harper Green is manning at the front of the gymnasium.

“Hey Clarke,” she grins, her line has dwindled significantly throughout the day, and Clarke is sure that they are now, down to the last few students that are currently waiting, “how’s Fox?”

“Is that the girl that just fainted?” she asks.

“Yep, she’s supposed to be going into our accelerated nursing program next semester, but I don’t guess she’s really cut out for it huh?”

“Not unless, she has something else going on, because fainting at the sight of blood is not going to get her there, no,” Clarke sighs, “I was just double checking that she is supposed to be in here.”

“Yep, also, how awesome is Bellamy at donating blood these days?”

“Amazing,” Clarke agrees, turning back to where he’s laid out, “as long as everything is okay here, I’m going to go sit with him for a few?”

“Sure, we only have these last 20 kids anyway,” Harper nods, “I doubt anymore faculty will show up, but they’ve still got about an hour until the end of the school day, so…”

“Right,” Clarke agrees, and then makes her way back to where Bellamy is already holding an arm over his head. “It’s like you don’t even need me anymore.”

“I’ll always need you,” he retorts, letting the tech take his arm back, as he focuses on her, “how are you doing today?”

“Feeling very pregnant,” she runs a hand over her belly, “and he’s feeling very active.”

“Yeah?” he questions, reaching for her, before he realizes he’s doing it. He pauses right before his hand gets there, to glance around, and then finally lets his hand rest against her. “How’d you guys do with the drive today?”

“I think your title is safe,” she decides, glancing again at her clipboard, noting they have surpassed their previous record number of pints, “you have an audience.”

He flicks his eyes briefly toward the row of three teenage girls that have brought him his snacks, “thank you,” he accepts the drinks and cookies, “and thank you for studying for that test last week, you guys killed it.”

“Of course, Mr. Blake,” the apparent ringleader smiles brightly at him before ushering the other two girls away.

“Someone’s got a crush,” she sing-songs, snagging a mini oreo from his pack.

“Hey, these are supposed to help me regain my strength.”

“Please,” she laughs, “one tiny oreo is not going to make a difference in whether or not you pass out.”

“And we acknowledge the teenage crush,” he urges, glancing around to ensure no one has heard him, “they get really mean with each other, if I so much as call on one of them in class.”

“We can just make them all hate me instead,” she offers, placing a hand against his jaw. She gives him a searing kiss before moving back to look for the gaggle of girls. She can’t help but to chuckle lowly, at the pouts on display.

“That was mean,” he laughs too, but pulls her back for one more quick peck, “get back to work, I’ll see you at home.”

“Love you,” she calls a little louder than necessary as she picks up her clipboard again.

“Love you too,” he promises, finishing off his oreos and looking around for another teenager, he can coerce into getting him more.


End file.
